The Staff of Dark Risings

Cellustran & Atrellus - Retired

[Aequitas]

IC:
Beneath a blue-webbed hand pressed against the lone pane of window, the glass is smudged in a cloudy divot from the daily scene: a ritual done today, like so many before it. A cloudy veil rises up and across the man’s unfocused eyes ...

... smoke filled his nostrils, inciting him to cough violently and the sensation jousted him awake. “Celly...” The word sifted through the menacing cloud of soot and fire, but meant nothing to him. “Celly...” Whoever the recipient of the name was for, the origin sounded frantic in saying it. ‘Celly ...” Whoever it was, was closer now, though the dull roar of hot, hungry, and angry beast surrounding the young merfolk was drawing much of his attention. “Cell,” accompanied a clasped hand on his shoulder and jerked his frail body from the embrace of the burning lashes, devouring his home. Through the clatter of steel against steel and bone; coursing through the streams of blood and puddles of gore; beneath the flailing of limbs, the vain howls of pain and rage, and the stomp of hooves, the young merfolk was dragged into the merciful shadows of the nearby forest. In a dazed stupor, his head lolled off to the side, and in the fleeting light of his burning homeland filtering through the underbrush, he looked up to recognize his saviour and friend ... “Atty...” ...

... he squinted up from his back against harsh sunlight creeping over the silhouette extending a helping hand towards his prone form. The young merman gathered himself, neglecting the offered assistance, and wiped a splatter of blood and saliva from his chin with the back of his hand. “I’m getting better,” the silhouette whispered as it took the shape of a young draconian dressed in a recruit’s tabard who followed the merfolk out of the sparring ring and back in line with the rest of the young men of all races training in the royal guard. Despite the bruise already appearing broadly and sleek against the young merman’s pale blue complexion, he had his narrowed chest thrust proudly out. A sharp blast of a horn incited the mass of men to shuffled chaotically back towards a series of tents sent against the battered walls of the citadel. Tossing aside the simple flap leading into his tent, the young merman threw his exhausted form into the makeshift cot. Gingerly touching the knot developing under his eye, he slipped into a dream-filled slumber, reminiscing on the tedious routine he had endured over countless months. He dreamed of a town ablaze as the last of the light faded from the campfires, and the secure orange glow against the side of his tent gave way to an all encompassing black ...

...a webbed hand was brought to his eyes, sweeping grit and tears from his vision. The scene that lay before was disheartening. The merman and his kine companion stood shakily, battered, and bloodied in a stockpile of a score of fresh cadavers. “Cellustra--,” was cut off with a short and grunted, “lets keep going.” An exasperate sigh escaped both men. Offering a slight and sad smile, the merman clapped his companion on the shoulder, before trudging past. He paused a moment, cocked his head to the side said over his shoulder, “Atrellus, we’re needed,” and he took off into the refuge of the forest crowned far in the distance by three cities ...

... Cellustran removed his hand from the window pane, and blinked hastily a few times, refocusing his eyes on the far stretches of Rhia. Pivoting away from the window, his eyes fall upon the door leading to the chamber of his lifelong friend, and co-founder of Aequitas, Atrellus and once again a thin smiled creeps through his taunt demeanor as he is reminded of the ultimate good they are imposing upon Rhia.